


Stained

by Vesania94



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Coma, F/M, First Kiss, Hallucinations, Healing, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, OT3, Psychological Torture, Red Lyrium, Saturnalia, Torture, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesania94/pseuds/Vesania94
Summary: Written for Dragon Age Poly Week on tumblr, this tells Grace's side of my Solavellan playthrough, which I termed the "Arbitrary Decisions AU".The basis of this alternate timeline is that Grace Trevelyan went to Therinfal instead of the Conclave, thus never becoming Inquisitor.





	1. Seeing Red

Grace hated Therinfal. The sight of the cold unforgiving stone sent shivers down her spine as her mind flashed painful memories of the Ostwick circle through her mind, the walls closing in around her. The reports coming in from the scouts were even more troubling: the conclave destroyed, the Divine dead, and a Dalish elf raised to the esteemed title of the Herald of Andraste, under the banner of a new Inquisition. The entire ordeal was enough to shake her rapidly fraying nerves. A year on the run, coupled with the constant haunting of the last half hour of her time in the Circle, the ceaseless images that ran through her mind watching Marc be run through by his own brethren left her numb and twitchy.  
She sighed and stood from her perch on the rough bed in the small room she had been granted by the Lord Seeker, straightening her clothing before strapping on her polished breastplate, the Sword of Mercy glittering in bright silver against the matte black. Getting out and getting some food would be good for her. Her hand froze on the latch as she turned, eyeing the staff that was propped next to the door. Reaching out tentatively, she looped it around her shoulders, immediately feeling a little steadier with the weapon at her back.

The grounds were painfully quiet as she exited the room, the few Templars who still milled around the courtyard turning away from her with furtive glances. One or two tried to smile at her, but most turned away with scowls. The door to the mess was heavy as she pushed it open, and as she became silhouetted in the doorway, the chatter died down to a whisper, all eyes turning towards her. Looking around for a familiar face, she settled on the stick straight posture of one of her fellow Hunters, sitting alongside their handler –Serena, if she remembered correctly. Silently accepting a plate from one of the cooks, she carefully walked towards the pair, growing more and more uneasy as she proceeded.  
Something was screaming in the back of her head, something important that scratched at the edges of her senses. Serena turned and looked at her with a cold glare, the pupils of her eyes flashing a disturbing red color.

Grace stopped, taking a small step back in shock. She felt dozens of eyes turning towards her, each pair seemingly tinged red, some of the senior Templars veins showing through their skin. Her heart rate sped up, anticipating what exactly, she did not know.

“Hunter Andraste!”

She started, nearly spilling the plate in her hands and backing into a nearby pole, eyes as wide as a hunted rabbits’. Looking around she saw the Templar that had called out to her, and she let out a shaking breath of relief when she recognized him. Ser Delrin Barris had worked with her on the last mission she had been a part of in Ferelden, and the men sitting at his table seemed to not be as perturbed by her entry as the rest of the mess hall. He motioned for her to come over, clearing a space by his side just big enough for her to squeeze into.

When she had wiggled into the space between Barris and one of the other Templars, Grace relaxed, finally allowing herself to take a full breath. Her relief apparently showed on her face, because Barris nodded softly, placing his hand over hers as she let them sit on the table.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” he asked, bending his head slightly in deference.

“I’m fine, thank you Ser Barris. It’s good to see you again. I didn’t know you were in Therinfal. I thought everyone who was coming was already here?” Grace responded with a hesitant smile. The Templar grinned back at her widely, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze before letting it go so she could start eating. The food was bland, but warm, and Grace ate quickly, trying to draw less attenition to herself. She was mid-bite when Barris answered her unasked question.

“We only just returned yesterday from Val Royeaux, after meeting the Herald.”

Grace coughed, covering her mouth with one hand and swallowing hard, blinking away the tiny pinpricks of tears as her throat protested the irritation.

“You met the-“

“Shh!” The whole table hissed, nervous eyes looking around the room. Barris shook his head.

“Not here,” he whispered, shooting a wary glance towards one of the senior officers, who was glaring their way.

“Is it because-“

“Not. Here.”

Grace nodded mutely, finishing her meal in anxious silence. The rest of the mess had gone silent as well as she stood, clearing her plate.

“My quarters, as soon as you can,” she whispered, looking down at the floor. Barris grabbed her hand as she went to leave.

“Lady Hunter… be careful.”

Grace flushed slightly pink before moving away. “I will. And I want to know everything.”


	2. We That Remain

Grace rushed back to her quarters, slamming the door behind her as she made it to the small room, hyper aware of the angry glares that followed her. Whatever had made her nervous in the mess hall was getting worse almost as though it was following her back to the room. The close walls almost felt like a refuge after the coldness she had encountered outside. She walked over to a small basin next to her bed, splashing water on her face, wetting a cloth and running it over her neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that was starting to settle in her muscles. The smell of sulphur from some unknown source assaulted her nose, bringing up horrific images fresh in her mind. A sunburst brand driving towards her face, the feeling of cold steel against her neck, the nexus of power building inside of her, churning, stinging, sending her attacker flying; the searing pain as his accomplice drove the brand into her arm, the sensation renewed as the scar burned and itched under her fingers.

No, no, no, no. “NO!”

A quiet knock at her door had her scattering again, fire sparking in her hand as she spun around, the door cracking open to reveal Barris cracking the door open hesitantly. She took a deep breath and lowered her hands, letting it out in a controlled,

“Maker’s breath, Ser Barris! You scared me!” she panted, slumping down on the bed.

“I’m sorry, my Lady. Are you alright?” he asked again, taking a tentative step towards her. Grace nodded weakly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’m fine, really Ser Barris. Just a little… out of sorts.”

The Templar frowned. “Have you requisitioned any lyrium from the Therinfal stores, Lady Hunter?”

“It’s Grace, please, and why? Is it important?” Grace asked, cocking her head and raising an eyebrow in confusion. Ser Barris gripped the pommel of his sword, looking at her with a dark expression.

“Did you requisition any lyrium from the Therinfal stores, Lady Grace.”

“Yes, but it hasn’t arrived. I’ve been managing from my own stores,” Grace said, backing towards the wall. Barris visibly relaxed. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew but I-“

A piercing scream cut him off, the intense smell of cinnamon filling the air. Grace jumped up, a thick barrier surrounding both of them, both speaking in unison.

“What in the-“

“Melanie!”

Her hands were on the door handle, hauling it open and sending her skidding out of the room and down the hallway towards another chamber at the end. Barris clanked after her, watching her try the door latch again and again before giving up and melting it with her hand, shoving the door open.

“Lady Grace! Stop!”

Her own scream rent the air as she witnessed the scene before her. The body of a blonde woman lay on the ground, eyes clouded over and face covered in blood. Over her was hunched a… well, the only word that Grace could come up with was _monster_. It looked like a man, or what had once been a man, covered in strange red crystals that were eerily reminiscent of lyrium. It roared at her, lifting its crystalline arms and charging her.

Instinct kicked in, sending her ducking under its swing and sending it skittering back with a mind blast, the scent of peppermint filling the room. The door slammed shut in Barris’ face, shutting Grace in the room with the horror. A strange metallic scent was mixing with the spicy scented air, almost like lyrium but stronger, almost cloying. Reeling back, the monster spat a foul red liquid at her, spattering it on the wall as she dodged, deflecting some of it with a quick barrier, followed by a wall of flames as she drove it back, the staff vibrating in her hands from how much power she was channeling through it. The door flew open once again, Barris charging through with sword and shield drawn, slashing down the monster as Grace ran over to what was left of her fellow Hunter.

“My Lady, are you hurt?” he asked, wiping his sword clean. He turned at the sound of her small whimper as she cradled the woman’s head, brushing blonde strands back.

“Oh Mel, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“A friend of yours?”

“We were all close,” Grace whispered, gently shutting Melanie’s eyes. “It was a sisterhood, a family. But Mel… Mel was the only one who didn’t resent me for retiring.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Hunter.”

Grace sniffed, wiping at her face trying to keep tears from falling. “I should find Ser Charles. He needs to know. He’s probably frantic.”

Barris sighed heavily, walking back over to the monster’s body, flipping it over with his foot. “I don’t think that’s necessary, my Lady.” There was a tinking noise as a phylactery rolled onto the ground, the gold chain that had once held it around the monster’s neck severed from a sword blow, the blood inside dark, and dead.

“Oh Maker,” Grace choked, covering her mouth. She looked as though she was about to vomit. Her face went pale and she backed away towards the wall, hands shaking. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. You said you hadn’t taken any of the Therinfal lyrium?” Barris asked, looking over at her tenderly. Grace nodded, her voice lost in the swirl of emotions that coursed through her. “When we got back, my men were immediately resupplied with new lyrium, even though we still had enough for the next week. It was red.”

“Red? But wasn’t that found in-“

“In Kirkwall. Yes.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

Grace took a shaking breath, settling the shaking in her hands and the churning of her stomach as she avoided looking at the body of the dead Templar, armor almost unrecognizable behind the crystal growths sticking out of his skin.

“We should get someone… someone who knows about this,” she whispered, inching along the wall towards the door.

“We’ll see if we can talk to one of the Knight-Commanders. They might be able to do something,” Barris soothed, placing a hand around her shoulder, guiding her towards the door.

It opened to chaos.

Whatever had happened to Ser Charles, had started happening to the rest of the Templars, the strange crystalline growths taking over their bodies, and those that weren’t as far gone were fighting the few unaffected Templars that remained. Grace’s eyes scanned the battlefield, just in time to see two Hunters locked in combat, the shorter, elven form of Serena proving the victor as the other woman fell in a purple flash, the acrid smell of burnt metal hazing over the bloody courtyard. The dark, cloudy, haze of entropy magic surrounded the elf’s feet, before she turned, locking eyes with Grace. Where they had once been sparkling copper, they were now a bloody, glowing red.

“No. Serena,” Grace whispered, taking a step back in shock. Barris shoved her out of the way of an oncoming sword, sending her careening into the wall. Dazed, she ducked the blade of Serena’s staff, narrowing missing her neck by moments.

She cast a dispel, but it did nothing, the elven woman fighting with her staff and hands, and not her magic. Grace fought back with fire, carving blazing trails through the air, losing ground quickly as the pair wove through the fighting Templars. Blocking the staff blade swinging towards her face once again, there was a loud crack, and her own staff splintered apart in her hands.

She backed away quickly, hands sparking in panic, bumping into one of the red Templars. In an instant she was surrounded, her barrier weakening as swords clattered against it.

Grace froze.

For a single moment, all she saw were the Templars of Ostwick, swords pointed at Marc, driving home while she could do nothing but watch in horror. The fear grew within her, reaching dangerous levels, the sick siren call of demons slipping through her thoughts, adding a new level of complexity to the situation. She needed to act quickly, she need to- she needed to-

There was a loud rush of wind, followed by the feeling and sound of an explosion as the Templars and mage assaulting her were blasted outwards by a wall of fire, air following the shockwave as it drove everyone in the courtyard to the ground, followed by another huge wall of flame sent in the direction of the corrupted Hunter, who was scattering, trying to find the staff she had dropped. It was now gripped in Grace’s hands as she ran forward, immolating the woman she had once called a sister.

There was a clatter and clank behind her, and she turned, hands once again aflame, seeing Barris hauling his way out from under the charred remains of one of the red Templars. Grace felt her heart skipping beats as she ran towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

“Ser Barris! Oh thank the Maker you’re alright!” she shrieked, pulling back and running a hand down his cheek, inspecting a superficial cut on his temple. Her eyes searched his face for an answer, finding only relief and a tenderness she hadn’t been expecting.

“That was incredible, my Lady,” he whispered, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. Grace let her eyes close gently; it had been almost a year since she had felt any kind of affectionate touch, and months since anyone had expressed outright concern for her wellbeing. It was almost pleasurable.

“Grace,” she whispered back, absently leaning her head into his hand. “Please, just Grace.”

“Then you’ve got to call me Delrin. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she laughed, opening her eyes and smiling at him. The moment was broken when a crash echoed through the yard, the gate splintering as a huge behemoth of crystal and flesh slammed through it. Grace’s mind spun through patterns and plans, the staff turning in a repetitious, meditative pattern in her hand.

“Delrin, have you ever fought tandem before?” she asked nervously, hands flashing as a thick barrier covered them.

“Not with a mage.”

“Well,” Grace continued, gently placing her hand on his back, tensing as the behemoth crashed into the courtyard, bellowing at them. “There’s nothing like practical lessons, I guess. The important thing to remember is to not worry about me. You have to get anyone who’s still alive out of here. I’m expendable”

“If you think I’m leaving you behind, you’re an idiot,” Barris laughed, taking up a defensive position in front of her, just out of the swirling path of the staff blade. “We just need to get past it, we don’t actually have to fight it.”

“Easier said than done.”

He looked over his shoulder as she unstopped a vial of lyrium, swallowing quickly and making a face, shivering as it surged through her body.

“Ready?” Green eyes searched green eyes, looking for reassurance.

“Straight through to the gate. Don’t look back, don’t worry about me,” she repeated, bringing the staff to a halt and renewing her grip on it.

It charged, bashing through stone and structure alike, swinging crystal arms at them, showering them with rock chips as each dodged to the side, throwing up their shields. There was a bright flash, and a wall of fire engulfed the monster’s legs as they met on the other side, sprinting towards the destroyed gate, only to have the damaged walls crash down in front of them.

“We’re trapped!” Grace yelled over the sound of rubble settling. The behemoth turned and shrieked, trying to get ready to charge again. Barris looked from it to her, brow creasing in frustration.

“This is the only way out!” he yelled back, bracing himself against the stone as the behemoth started become more agitated, trying to fight its way out of the flames which didn’t let up. A single bead of sweat fell from Grace’s brow as she concentrated, expending precious mana to keep the beast contained.

“Then start climbing!”

“Not without you!”

“Knight-Captain!” she hissed, muscles straining as the fire started dipping lower and lower. “If I break my concentration right now, we will both be dead. I suggest you either save yourself, or figure out how to carry me.”

Hand encircled her waist, pulling her upwards. “If you think I’m leaving you behind, Lady Hunter, then you really are an idiot.”

Concentrating on the fire became harder and harder as the monster fought against the prison she had created, the ground scorching hot and glowing where the lines were drawn. Portions started to flicker out as they climbed higher and higher on the massive rubble pile, finally snapping as they reached the top, the shriek of the lyrium monster ripping through the air as it charged.

“Down!” Grace screamed, pulling Barris down with her towards a sheltered area behind what remained of the gate, gasping in shock as he pressed her to the wall, covering her body with his own. The behemoth slammed into the wall, sending more chunks sliding down, burying it with a strangled wail.

Panting for breath, Grace felt herself swaying, adrenaline coursing through her body, and the compounded exhaustion of her spellwork getting the better of her. Bariss’ strong hands kept her upright as she started to slide down the wall, pressing her harder into the stone. She looked up, eyes bright and shining, face flushed pink from the battle.

Neither was sure who moved first. It may have just been the heat of the battle, but as her lips locked with his, Grace felt her heart skip beats, and a thrill race through her body. Her hands gripped the edge of his breastplate, not sure whether to push away or pull closer.

In the end, he was the one to pull away first, hanging his head. “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Delrin, it’s okay.”

“No. No it’s not. I should have… been more conscious of myself.” He stepped back, taking a deep breath. “Marc would have been furious.”

Grace’s blood ran cold, wincing at the mention of her dead Handler, hand moving to her neck where her own phylactery hung, hot against her skin.

“No. I think he would have understood,” she sighed. “We should get moving.”

They ventured into the foliage that surrounded the fortress. A few other Templars had managed to escape, now gathering in a small clearing nearby. Most were Barris’ men, though a few younger recruits, still on half doses of lyrium had escaped taking the red, and escaped the murderous abominations that had attacked them.

No Hunters were among their numbers. The younger recruits started to whisper, hands toying with sword hilts.

“Who’s the mage?”

“Is she a spy?”

“Just what we need, an abomination amongst us.”

“Shut it!” Barris yelled, startling the group of teenagers. “You will address the Lady Hunter with the respect afforded her station!”

“Who’s in charge?” Grace asked, looking around the camp. Most were Knights, or Knight recruits. There was a Knight-Lieutenant, and Barris. Racing through the chain of command in her head, her eyes went wide.

She was now the highest ranking official. A mage was now the Commander of what remained of the Templar Order.

All eyes turned towards her and Barris, who had looked over at her with a worried shrug. Then the shouting started.

“She can’t be in charge! She’s a mage!”

“Where’s her Handler? I’m not taking any orders from mage-flesh!”

“Just kill her now so we don’t have to worry about her turning on us!”

“Yeah!”

The rasp of steal filled the air, as several of the Templars drew their swords, each pointing directly at Grace. Her heart rate shot through the roof as she desperately tried to keep her face a mask of calm, palms sweating as the Templars started to approach her, faces as cold as the metal of their blades.

“Put your weapons down!” Barris roared, standing in front of her. “I will assume responsibility for anything that goes wrong, but so help me she come to harm-“

“Delrin, it’s okay,” Grace whispered, backing towards the trees. “It’s okay, I’ll just go.”

“No. We’re few enough as it is, and I can’t stand the idea of leaving the last Hunter in Thedas to fend for herself,” he muttered back to her, before drawing himself up to his full height. “I will assume responsibility for the Lady Hunter’s actions. If you won’t follow her, follow me.”

“Barris!” Grace hissed.

He ignored her, looking over the rag tag group. “If you have a problem with it, you will talk to me, but I am following the Lady Hunter.”

There was silence for a moment, before the voice of one of the recruits filtered through the crowd. “Where?”

Once again, all eyes turned to Grace, and she felt herself fighting the urge to run and never look back. She swallowed hard, the steadiness of her voice a mask she hid behind.

“The only place we can go that might help us. We go to the Inquisition.”


	3. Handler

Delrin watched her stare blankly into the fire, fiddling with something around her neck, the dark red hair that fell around her face shielding him from notice. It had been a week since the events of Therinfal, and they were no closer to making their way out of the forest than they had been when they started, many of the men still nursing injuries, and what little supplies they had were running low. Grace had rationed out what was left of her own lyrium supplies, trying to keep the stores filled as well as she could, but they both saw the meager supply dwindle every morning. Something would have to give before the week was out, or they would have a lot of useless, horrifically ill Templars. He could see the tension in her shoulders as she stretched her neck, dark bruising under her eyes betraying her exhaustion.

She had taken leadership in stride, but not without conflict. Many of the younger recruits still whispered behind her back, and more than once he had reprimanded a few of the older Knights for calling her ‘abomination’ under their breath. There were issues, but slowly they were resolving. Every day, more and more of the knights warmed to their Hunter’s presence, even if they still didn’t trust her without a Handler, and more importantly, without some means of tracking her down if necessary.

He wondered whether her phylactery had survived the fall of Ostwick. If Marc Garren had died as was widely reported, then it was likely still on his corpse, tiny, warm and glowing, thrumming with her magic, and pulsing with her heartbeat. Her low chuckle started him out of his thoughts.

“I can hear you thinking, Delrin,” she said, tucking the hair behind her ear and looking over at him with a tired smile. “Come on. Sit.” She patted the ground beside her, looking back into the fire, the red tattoo on her face blazing dark against her skin.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, settling down next to her. Grace sighed, shaking her head.

“Yes, and no. I just wanted to say thank you,” she replied, smiling. It didn’t quite cut through the sleep deprivation that turned her gaze into a thousand yard stare. “Maker how do I say this… You didn’t have to stand up for me, but you did, and you didn’t have to save my life either, but you did,” she continued, still fiddling with the fine gold chain around her neck, which continued down into her shirt, where something heavy pulled it downwards.

“You save my life two years ago, back during that raid.”

“That’s… true. But you still didn’t have to,” Grace admitted, nodding slightly. “Ugh, it was never this hard with Marc.” Her shoulders tensed again as she inhaled, frowning at the sky as her head tipped back, her eyes sliding shut. “Just… thank you. For caring.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” he chuckled, sobering up as he watched her fiddle with the chain some more, the soft smile on her face fading into a numb expression as she became fascinated with the fire again. “You miss him.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever stop missing him. But Marc always said I was the strongest out of the two of us, and he would have wanted me to move on with my life, as insane and crazy as that sounds,” she sighed, almost bitter. Shaking herself she slipped the chain off of her neck, gathering it and it’s pendant into her hand. “I want to ask you something. And you can say no if you want, I will understand completely.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

She picked up his hand, spreading it open on her lap, her small delicate hands dwarfed by his own. He felt the press of glass and metal against his palm, and the soft birdlike flutter of a phylactery resonating through his skin.

“I would like you to take care of this. I… I can’t keep it. It reminds me too much of Marc. I’m sure it will give the men some peace of mind, knowing I still have some ties to the Order.”

He paused, wary to take the tiny phylactery. “Are you asking me to act as your Handler, Lady Hunter?”

Her eyes shot open wide, shocked. “No! No, I would never! I wouldn’t ask that of you unless you offered first,” Grace spluttered, yanking her hand back. “It’s not something you ask of someone unless you know they’ll say yes. Just… keep it safe.” She stood up quickly, brushing dust off of herself. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on our injured. It should be time for some of them to have their next round of healing.”

Grace started to walk off, fidgeting with her clothing, pausing at every step before she turned, not five steps from where she had started.

“I, um. I haven’t forgotten about the kiss either. It was… nice.”

“Nice?”

“Nice,” she said with a small smile, rocking back onto her heel as she turned to make her way to the makeshift tent that acted as an infirmary. The phylactery flickered in his hand, warm against his skin.

She was something, that was certain, he laughed to himself as he slipped the chain around his neck, the new weight settling itself comfortably on his shirt. The phylactery glowed happily as she started to work on the injured Templars, the breeze through the forest carrying the scent of peppermint across the camp. He hoped that in the morning, they would make more progress toward whatever they were trying to do.


	4. Last Of The Order

The trip to Skyhold took over a month. What had originally started as forty Templars, now numbered just thirty, despite Grace’s best efforts, lost to the horrifying effects of withdrawal as their lyrium supplies dwindled, and inevitably were exhausted. A few of the smaller villages had offered them aid, though whether that was out of fear or devotion, none could say. By the time they approached the main gate, they were all exhausted, and she could see a vein twitching on Barris’ temple. Always the selfless one, he had gone onto half rations, and eventually only accepted half rations every other day in order to keep the younger recruits from running out. Her heart ached as she tried to fathom the amount of pain he must be in, the tired horses carrying them up the long ramp to the main gate. Looking up, the ramparts bristled with soldiers, arrows trained on her men, poised and ready to fire.

When had their band become her men?

Tipping her head back, she let the hood of her cloak slide off, showing her face to the mid day sun, blinking in the brightness.

“We send our greetings to the Lady Inquisitor, and seek shelter in the arms of the Inquisition as the few remaining members of the Templar Order,” she called up, hoping her voice carried as far as the top of the wall.

Precious moments passed, and she felt Barris’ steady hand on her shoulder as she waivered, slipping in the saddle. Reaching up, she interlaced her fingers with his, grateful for the support. Finally, the gate creaked open, and their small band passed through the gate, gathering in a small crowd in the courtyard. Slowly, their horses were led away for much a much needed rest. Barris extended a hand, helping Grace off of her own horse, steadying her as she swayed on her feet. They had made it. Barely, but they had made it.

An extremely short elven woman approached, dark green tattoos standing out harsh against her skin, casting worried eyes over the crowd, and especially Grace.

“I didn’t know they allowed mages in the Templar Order,” she said suspiciously glancing over at a much taller man, walking down from the ramparts. In her exhaustion, Grace knew that she recognized him, but could not place it.

“Lady Hunter, Lord Handler,” the man said with a small bow, “I had no idea any of you remained.”

Grace shot a strained glance towards Barris who shook his head. She took a deep breath before looking at the man, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Knight Captain Barris is not my Handler, ser,” she whispered, eyes falling to the ground. “My Lord Handler Marc Garren died during the fall of the Ostwick Circle. Delri– Ser Barris is currently acting as my Hold, not as my Handler.”

“Do you know something about this woman, Cullen?” the elven woman asked, one eyebrow rising in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand this Handler business.”

“She… she is a mage hunter, Inquisitor,” the man explained haltingly, trying to find the correct words to explain Grace’s place among the Templars. The name sparked something in her mind, but she kept silent.

“That exists?” the Inquisitor asked, looking up and down at Grace before sticking a hand out. “Inquisitor Fenara Lavellan. May I know your name, Hunter?”

“Grace,” Grace managed, fighting the pull of exhaustion. “Please, Inquisitor, we’ve been travelling for weeks after Therinfal fell. We offer our swords in service to the Inquisition in return for supplies and shelter.”

“Of course,” Fenara said, “I’m guessing you’re out of lyrium? How many days have your men been out?”

“Four. They’ve been on half rations for longer. Barris–“

“I’m fine, Grace,” Barris said behind gritted teeth, shaking hands betraying his condition.

“Come,” Fenara decided, motioning towards the main hall. “We’ll have your men resupplied and given quarters, and you and I will go speak with our Ambassador about the terms of this service.”

“I’ll come as well,” Cullen said, folding his arms, “I may be able to help explain some things to Josephine. I don’t know much about the Hunters, but I worked with the one in Kirkwall for a time. Some of the terminology can be tricky.”

“I go where she goes,” Barris responded, the hand on Grace’s shoulder tightening.

“You need to go get some lyrium in you before you get any sicker, Delrin,” Grace reprimanded. “I will be fine. It’s been a week since you’ve had anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“Knight-Captain. That’s an order.”

Scowling, Barris took his hand off of her shoulder, snapping a messy salute. “As my Lady commands.” Following after the trail of bedraggled Templars, he stopped next to Cullen, glaring at him. “If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible, Ser.”

“Ser Barris!” Grace admonished. He waved her off, stalking after the Templars in a dark cloud. “I’m sorry, he’s normally very collected. It’s-“

“The withdrawal, I know,” Cullen finished motioning towards the stairs. “Lady Hunter, Inquisitor.”

It was a grand, ancient keep, furnished with warm, simple things, Grace thought as she was bustled through the main hall to a small, richly decorated office, a busy woman with ink stains over her hands looking up in surprise.

“Inquisitor! Commander! Is there a meeting I wasn’t informed about?”

“A little, Josie,” Fenara admitted, pulling up a large cushioned chair, pulling Grace towards it. “Please, sit. You look exhausted.”

“Who is this?”

“Lady Ambassador, if I may present… I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to introduce you,” Fenara admitted, turning and reaching into a small cabinet, pulling out a kettle and mugs.

Grace slumped into the chair, trying to keep an ordered appearance while she secretly reveled in the feeling of soft cushioning underneath her, her body aching. “Lady Hunter Grace Trevelyan, former Hunter for the Ostwick Circle of Magi, acting Commander of the last of the Templar Order.”

“What happened at Therinfal?” Cullen asked, leaning against a pillar and looking at her as though he was staring into her soul.

Grace swallowed hard. “I only know what I have been told by Ser Barris, and from treating wounds that were acquired during the battle. The Therinfal lyrium stores were resupplied with a version of lyrium I have never seen before. It’s red, highly addictive, and worst of all it seems to corrupt the very being of the person who has been exposed or has consumed it. Some of the men I treated in the end… they were more monster than human, before it was agreed that a swift death was better than anything they could have been feeling.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself as images flashed through her mind. Melanie. Phylactery. Templars. Blood. Marc. A cup of tea was nestled into her hands, which she sipped at gratefully. “It…changed the men at Therinfal, as well as my fellow Hunters. Ser Barris is the only reason I made it out of the fortress alive.”

“Have any of your men been taking red lyrium, Hunter?” Fenara asked, tone soothing, but urgent.

“If anyone was, do you think I would have a group of lyrium starved Templars following me, Inquisitor? They all saw what happened to their brothers at Therinfal. There is no red lyrium in our ranks. Besides, most of those who remain are Barris’ men, and a few Knight-Recruits who were only on half doses, and still had a supply of the normal lyrium. I was running off of my own supply before we left. What was left of that went to the men,” Grace answered, leaning back. Her muscles protested, deep set hurts and pains screaming at her.

“You said you were offering the swords of the Templars to the Inquisition. Would this include your skills as well, Lady Hunter?” Cullen asked, continuing with the questioning.

“My talents and skills are at your disposal, Ser. Should you wish to make use of my abilities, as I said before, Ser Barris is acting as my Hold, though I suggest you wait until he recovers to speak to him.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Josie piped up, writing on pieces of parchment. “Hold?”

Grace sighed, her head starting to pound with compounded stress as the tension in her shoulders started to ease. “A Hold is when a subordinate looks after a Hunter’s phylactery. I was fortunate enough to come into possession of mine before the Ostwick Circle fell. As my Handler, my partner if you will, has been dead for over a year, I trust Ser Barris enough to find me, but I wouldn’t tie him to that life unless he wanted it.”

“Did anyone else of your order survive Therinfal, my Lady?” Cullen questioned again, this time in a gentler tone.

“No. There were only four of us at Therinfal. Most Hunters were killed or made Tranquil during the uprisings. Mel– Hunter Aster was killed by her Handler after he had been affected by red lyrium. Hunter Bellinar was corrupted alongside her Handler, and caused the death of Hunter Shale. I executed Hunter Bellinar myself. I don’t know what happened to Ser Teagan. He was Sarah’s – Hunter Shale’s Handler. I can only assume that he is dead, or among the numbers of red Templars. I suppose… I suppose I am the last, unless any others have survived farther away. They would have come to Therinfal though. Or the Conclave.”

A tense silence filled the air as Grace took another sip of her tea, fighting exhaustion as she started to unravel, before Fenara shook her head.

“You look as though you are about to drop dead, Lady Trevelyan. For now, we’ll accept your assistance as an alliance until such a time that an acceptable contract can be drawn up, and you are in a state that you can look over it,” Fenara said, standing. “Josie, do we have a spare room she can use?”

“Yes. In fact, it will be the same tower the Templars are being housed in, to the left of Cullen’s office. I can escort you over there right away, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Thank you,” Grace whispered, trying to crack a smile. Setting the teacup aside, she tried to stand, her legs finally giving out. Cullen caught her before she hit the floor, picking her up with ease.

“Oh, Maker! I’m sorry,” she muttered, flushing red with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Josephine, I’ll take her over. Don’t worry about it,” Cullen said, his voice rumbling in his chest as he didn’t put her down.

“Ser, really, I’m fine. I can make it on my own,” Grace squeaked, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

“Lady Hunter, you’re exhausted. Please allow me to do this. That’s an order,” Cullen sighed, looking down at her. Green eyes met amber in a challenge, and then horrified recognition.

“Knight-Commander Rutherford?”

“Like I said. An order,” Cullen repeated, pushing through the door and towards the rotunda.

Grace felt her heartrate increase, mind swirling as panic rose in her chest, bubbling over the edges of her ragged consciousness.

Mission. Boy. Marc. Execution. Screaming. Blood. Circle. Brand.

As taxed as her mind was, the influx of memories sent her careening over the edge, and she slipped into blackness, going slack in Cullen’s arms.


	5. An Uneasy Calm

The first weeks were marked with a quiet, uneasy calm settling over Skyhold as the Templars settled in. Cullen watched as the small tower room across from his became almost an eerie reflection of his own life: runners coming and going at all hours, and very night, the candle light burning well past the midnight bell. Even the Hunter’s free time seemed to be filled with work, either pushing herself through complex drills on the training ground after the soldiers had finished for the day, or sending off ravens in every direction, almost pleading for a reply from anyone else in her order. So far, none had been answered, the ravens coming back either with sad news, or worse, no news.

Which is what made her presence leaning against the battlements so peculiar, the gentle breeze barely ruffling her hair as she watched over the mountains, lost in thought. Out of the plate and leather of her uniform, she looked like a noblewoman taking her ease. He approached her cautiously, careful not to startle her.

“Lady Trevelyan?”

“Huh? Oh, Commander,” she said, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, actually I saw you standing out here and wondered if you were alright,” Cullen responded, leaning on the battlement next to her. “I don’t see you out of your quarters very often, especially not out of uniform.”

“Delrin –I mean, Ser Barris, threatened to lock me out if I didn’t take an afternoon to myself,” Grace laughed sadly, shaking her head. “He worries about me, which I appreciate, but it’s unnecessary.”

“Too much paperwork?” Cullen asked, smiling back, his forehead creasing out of concern all the same. “I imagine you weren’t in much of an administrative position.”

“No. The paperwork isn’t the problem, though judging by how late your candles are lit as well, you also know what avoiding sleep feels like.”

“Nightmares?”

“Every night. The paperwork is a nice escape. Sister Nightingale’s reports are fantastically detailed,” Grace sighed, leaning back and catching the sun’s rays on her face. “But you don’t need to hear about that. After Kirkwall I’m sure you have enough problems of your own that you don’t need to add mine onto the pile.”

“Are you sure? If you ever need to talk I would be willing to listen.”

“You’re sweet,” Grace laughed, rising up on her tiptoes to gently kiss his cheek. “Really, Cullen. I should be fine. But if I need to, I’ll take you up on your offer. And you know that the offer stands for you as well. We’ve both seen our share of horrors.”

Cullen barely stammered out a reply, one hand awkwardly palming his neck as he tried to search for an answer as Grace watched him with a pleased smile on her face. A shout rang over the ramparts, announcing the Inquisitor’s return from the Empris du Lion, the small band galloping up the gangway, the bellowing of harts answering the shouting, saving Cullen from any further embarrassment.

“Speaking of horrors,” Cullen chuckled, “I guess I’ll be due in the war room soon for the debriefing. Apparently the Inquisitor has found something I’m supposed to be interested in. Whatever that could be I have no idea.”

“Well, should you need me, I told Delrin I would meet him for drills. I think we’ll be in the ring closest to the windows, if you catch a break and want to observe. It should be quite the show. I’m teaching him tandem today,” Grace remarked, walking towards the stairs.

“He never learned?”

“Mages do it differently,” Grace laughed, winking saucily. “Maybe once you’re free of the war council you can join us? We can do a three-way.”

Cullen coughed, flushing bright red as she walked down the stairs without another word, disappearing beyond the landing. “ _Maker’s breath!_ ”

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later a runner arrived from Josephine, calling him to a meeting. Still mentally reeling from the comments made by Grace, he walked briskly towards the War Room. Fenara was already waiting, glaring at markers over the Hissing Wastes and speaking in low tones with Leliana, deciding how best to approach the new area without alerting the Venatori packs that had been reported in the area. He wasn’t needed quite yet, apparently. The clatter of wood on wood caught his attention as he wandered around the room, glancing out the windows. What he saw made his mouth go dry.

Already shiny with sweat, Barris and Grace were locked in mock combat, wooden stave against wooden sword, both vying for the upper hand. Both were shirtless, Grace’s tight breastband drenched through as she whipped the stick around her head in swirling patterns, dust settling into dirty streaks in the small of her back while Barris strained to hold off her flurry of attacks, finally backing off and holding up a hand in yield. Immediately, she stopped and smiled, spinning the stick into a resting position at her side, catching a damp rag that was tossed at her.

It felt voyeuristic, watching the pair of them wipe themselves down, their hands tracing toned muscles and healed scars. His eyes darted from the brand mark on Grace’s right shoulder, pink and shiny, to an elaborate tattoo over Barris’ left that almost poetically matched in theme.

“Ready?” she asked Barris, tossing the rag over onto the fence once again. Cullen watched with curiosity, listening carefully as she approached the Templar, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder and giving him more instructions. “First is a basic change of position. If I’m at your back, and I need to move to your front, spinning out and around with the staff takes too long, especially in close quarters where we might not have that kind of room.”

She guided him through positioning her, the movements almost sensual and dance like as she arched her arms over her head, planting them in the sand and kicking her feet over her head in a roundabout, Barris’ hands guiding her to his opposite side. They moved through the motion several times without her wooden staff, hands groping skin in an effort to guide and control her precise movements. An errant thought raced through Cullen’s mind, wondering just what it would feel like to have another man’s hands gripping his sides, or what it would look like from Barris’ perspective: the lithe, dancer like form of Grace bending and contorting under his fingers. It left him flushed, pulling at the collar of his shirt and swallowing hard. The more he watched, the less he was able to look away as Grace picked up the wooden practice staff, twirling it artfully, taking her position once again.

With the addition of the staff, the movement sped up to avoid the twirling wood, the dance quickly becoming a fast paced, lethal movement as Grace flipped over Barris’ knee, staff cutting the air with a deadly whistle.

“Yes that was perfect! You’re really picking this up quickly!” she cheered, embracing the other man warmly.

“What’s next?”

They moved through several other technically simple, but devastating maneuvers, the intimate dance of death becoming more and more intertwined and intricate, until at one point, Grace found herself bent backwards over Barris’ arm, staring straight into the Cullen’s eyes, her green ones flashing with amusement right before upwards momentum sent her twisting through the air, rolling on one shoulder as she hit the ground, twisting to her feet.

“ _Commander_.Commander! CULLEN!” the irritated voice of Fenara finally registered in his ears. “Creators, when you’re done ogling the pair of them, could you find time to pay attention?” Leliana snickered, passing him a piece of paper. “This is important.”

“What is it?” he asked, peering over the paper. What was written there made his blood run cold.

“We may have a way to find Samson. Our resident Hunter may just be the ticket to track him down and stop him from cultivating more red lyrium.”


	6. Tracking Samson

“He was watching us,” Grace whispered, wiping her neck down with a clean rag dipped in cold well water. It sent shivers down her spine as small rivulets ran down her back. “Intently.”

“Did he look impressed?” Barris asked, rinsing his own rag as they sat in Grace’s office, Barris having relinquished the key so they could clean up in peace.

“He looked… interested. To the point of distraction.”

“Not to be out of line, Lady Hunter, but you are a very distracting woman,” Barris chuckled, glancing sideways as he pulled his shirt over his head, watching her throw her head back, laughing loudly, the motion almost emphasizing the gentle curve of her back.

“Flatterer. I wasn’t the only person he was staring at Delrin. You give yourself too little credit,” she laughed, walking to a small dresser and removing a fresh breastband and shirt, turning towards the wall and unlacing the sweat soaked band she had on. “He seemed very interested in what your hands were doing.”

Barris seemed a little taken aback, running a hand over his head sheepishly, cheeks darkening. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Grace chuckled, lacing the new cloth snuggly around her breasts, turning back towards Barris as the door opened with a slam, Cullen bursting into the room.

“Lady Trevelyan, we need- Oh Maker’s breath I’m sorry!” he yelled, turning his head as Grace’s still shirtless form came into view.

“It’s fine, Cullen. What’s wrong?” Grace replied, immediately snapping back into her role. She pulled the tunic over her head quickly, the grey linen sinking in a wave down her body. “Cullen! You can look, I’m decent.”

Cullen looked up, face still flushed from embarrassment and running, catching Barris’ eye before looking towards Grace, straightening himself and handing her the piece of paper.

“We may have a way of tracking down the leader of the red Templars. He’s a man named Sampson, he used to be a Templar in Kirkwall,” Cullen explained, watching her eyebrows knit in confusion over the document. “I don’t know how you can, but if there’s even a possibility that you could-“

“Let’s go see what they have,” Grace interrupted, placing the paper down on her desk and quickly strapping on her armor. “If it works, we’ll have to leave immediately, since I won’t have a renewable source of whatever it is they’re thinking I can track him off of. The Arcanist has it, apparently?”

“Dagna’s reliable, if a little overenthusiastic sometimes. Whatever it is will have been well cared for.”

Her black leather coat snapped as she pulled the collar taut, shoving a pin through her hair roughly to keep it out of her face.

“Barris, I’ll you to give my phylactery to Commander Cullen, please,” she said, pulling open a low drawer in her desk, removing the contents and scattering them on the desk’s surface. A wide belt with potions pouch attached, a small suture kit, a small bundle that opened slightly to reveal small round cakes sparkling with crystalized sugar and nuts, and the most interesting, twin silverite daggers, hilts decorated with silver vines around Chantry suns. She strapped the belt around her hips, grabbing her staff from behind her chair. Barris didn’t move, hand almost possessively wrapped around the vial. “Knight-Captain, you are released from your Hold. Unless you intend to tell me something I really don’t think you understand the consequences of, you are to give my phylactery to the Commander. I can’t work without consent from a Handler or a superior officer, and currently you are neither.”

Barris slipped the gold chain off of his neck, holding it out for Cullen to grab, releasing it into a small gleaming pile in Cullen’s hand.

“Please keep it safe.”

“Barris, stop. I know you’re very protective of me, but it will be fine,” Grace snapped, walking briskly to the door. “I do want you to come along though, if this leads to anything. No offense, Commander, but having someone who I’ve worked with and trust will be useful.”

“None taken, Lady Hunter,” Cullen said with a shrug, pulling her door open as she walked towards it briskly, Barris following her closely.

“Looks like we may have some time to get to know each other, Commander,” Barris called back, smiling.

The undercroft was warm from the fires of the forge, Fenara, Dagna, and Leliana all surrounding a small table that held a smaller, heavily reinforced chest.

“Inquisitor, Sister Nightingale. Arcanist,” Grace said, stepping forward with a slight bow, “I understand you have need of my services.”

Fenara nodded, motioning to the chest. “Indeed we are, Lady Hunter. Now, Cullen has explained to me how Hunters track their quarry, and I’m not sure I fully understand. You track through the magical signature in their blood, correct?”

“Usually using a phylactery, yes, but it can be done with just about anyone’s blood,” Grace said, “or rather, anything that they’ve been around for a long enough time. Certain objects retain more of a person –a journal, a loved stuffed animal, a lover even. They’re more difficult to sort out, but it can be done.”

“And what about tracking the signature of someone’s blood through their lyrium supply? Red Lyrium, specifically.”

Dagna opened the chest carefully, pulling back the lid, where a tiny chunk of red lyrium crusted metal.

“We found this scrap, which was most likely chipped off during repairs. We believe that it could be a chunk of Samson’s armor based on a few details spotted by Dagna and Leliana,” Fenara continued. “Do you think you can do it?”

Grace stared at the lyrium chunk, simultaneously repulsed and enraptured. “I’m… not sure. While I see the parallels, usually lyrium impedes the process. I have no idea what would happen.”

“Can you try?” Cullen asked, a pleading look on his face. “Just try?”

“I can try,” she whispered, pulling out one of her gloves and covering her hand with it, to avoid direct contact with the red lyrium.

“Commander?”

Cullen took a deep breath, racking his brain for the correct words. “Lady Hunter, you are being tasked to track this individual until they are found, dead or alive. Do you accept this as your mission?”

“I do, Knight-Commander.”

“You may proceed with your tracking. May the Maker have mercy on your quarry.”

Her eyes seemed to glow with a pale green light as the small chunk rose into the air, the peppermint smell of her magic filling the room as it started to spin faster and faster, her face contorting in frustration and pain. With a pained squeak, she dropped the lyrium, the chunk clattering against the ground as she recoiled, as if burned.

“Are you alright?” Barris asked, stepping forward, but Cullen put an arm forward to stop him from touching her.

Panting, she backed away from the table, head turning back and forth as though she was trying to find something.

“It’s faint. It’s very faint but I think…” she started, spinning on her heel. “Yes. Yes I have it. This way.” She pointed off over the waterfall, before turning again and sprinting towards the door of the Undercroft, wheeling around once again. “Do you have anything in your stables that can just _go_?”

Fenara looked back and forth from Cullen to Grace, to Barris. “The Light-Torn steed, Hunter, the Bog Unicorn, and the Oath-Bound. They’re…”

“Not actually horses, but will see you to your destination with the utmost haste,” Leliana finished. “I had them saddled when Cullen went to fetch you. They’re also supplied. Go with the speed of the Maker, Lady Hunter.”

With a nod, Grace raced out of the Undercroft, feet pounding the stones as Cullen and Barris ran after her, barely making it to their horses as she vaulted onto the Light Torn Steed, stones skittering away from it’s hooves as she followed the unmistakable pull of tainted blood.


	7. To Love A Hunter

The Shrine of Dumat rose like a stain on the landscape as they burst through the forest. Grace had pushed both men to the breaking point, riding hard through day and night as she tried to keep a hold of the faint trail that pulled her ever onwards towards it’s source. The constant silence of the road, and her dedicated attention to tracking left the men with a lot of time to talk, finally working their way onto first name terms through the trip. Though their backgrounds could not have been more different, there was a certain comfort they found in each other as Grace continued onwards without hesitation.

She finally stopped at the top of a rise, pointing at the shrine with conviction and finality. “There.”

“It looks like a trap,” Cullen said, bringing the Bog Unicorn to a halt next to her.

“I’m telling you, whoever that lyrium chunk was leading me to is in there, trap or no,” Grace said, walking the Light Torn Steed in a circle. She cooed to it quietly, scratching behind a glowing ear. “We should leave the horses here. Continue on foot. It’s only another hundred feet or so to the gate.”

The courtyard was abandoned. In fact, the entire complex seemed to have been torched and abandoned in a hurry. There were an incredible amount of vials of lyrium around the tables.

“If Samson had been here, Cullen, he’s not here now,” Barris hissed. “Grace, are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“I tracked whoever’s armor that was,” she snapped back, “the fact that I did should alone be impressive. Whoever they are, they’re definitely here.”

Not a soul was seen or heard as they scouted the temple, corpses denoting where men had once stood guard, their mangled, lyrium devoured corpses taking up residence now. A shuffling noise behind them had them all turn, weapons at the ready. Cullen was the first to sheath his sword, running towards the man who lay propped up against a charred desk.

“Maddox.”

“Knight-Commander Rutherford. Lady Hunter. I am sorry to say that we will not be speaking for much longer,” the man said, the monotone voice sending chills down Grace’s back. She fought the impulse to retreat, her brain showering her with mental images.

Boy. Blood. Circle. Marc. Brand.

The scar itched slightly, and she touched it over her coat, rubbing at it absently as Cullen continued to question the Tranquil man.

“Where is Samson?”

“He left when he heard the Inquisition was coming for him. I stayed behind to burn the papers. I am afraid I failed him,” Maddox said, looking at the half burned desk, a large black satchel laying on top of it.

“Come back with us to the Inquisition.”

“There is no going anywhere for me now, Knight-Commander. I drank all of my deathroot solution. It will not be long now.”

Cullen looked at Grace, silently pleading with her. She picked up the empty flask, shaking her head.

“Cullen, no amount of magic I could pour into him would save him from this. If it was half of this size, I still wouldn’t expect him to survive. He seems to be at peace with his choice,” she said, dropping the glass to the ground where it bounced and rolled away under the desk. “I’m sorry.”

“The Hunter is right, Knight-Commander,” Maddox said, his voice growing weaker and weaker as he leaned back. “Peace…” His eyes slid shut, and with a final rattling breath, Maddox slumped over in death.

“Maker’s breath. I had no idea Samson had gotten Maddox in on this. It makes sense, with the Tranquil’s crafting abilities… still, I had no idea he was so loyal,” Cullen mused.

“Well, we have his tools, at the least. Our friendly neighborhood Arcanist should be able to do something with these,” Grace said picking up the case and snapping it to her belt. Looking back at the desk, Grace froze, staring at the bloody markings that were scrawled on the table underneath.

_You’re not the only Hunter left, sister._

Recognition hit her like a thunderbolt. That woman should have died at Therinfal. That woman was a pile of ash under a behemoth corpse. Yet there was her writing, clear as day. Right where it should not have been.

“Run,” she whispered, looking up in horror, the very distinctive pull of the tainted blood almost driving her mad as it grew closer, and closer.

It had most definitely been a trap.

Crashing out of the main gate came a behemoth, hard on their trail as the pull screamed in her mind that this was what she had been following. The behemoth roared, and Grace turned on her heel, yelling orders, diving out of the way of the red lyrium foot.

“Cullen, at it’s back! Delrin, on me!”

They backed up to each other, sword and staff each turning as a barrier flew around all three of them, the behemoth swinging a crystal arm towards Grace’s head. Rolling to the side, she darted back next to Barris, pelting the monster with fireballs.

“What is it?”

Grace looked upwards, trying to find a trace of the person now overwhelmed by the lyrium, finding none.

“It’s Serena,” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I wasn’t tracking lyrium, I was tracking a mage!”

“Why aren’t we running then?” Barris yelled back, flipping her over his back as she moved to draw walls of flame between them and an oncoming group of red Templars.

“It’s a Hunter!” Grace snapped, “if it didn’t have my signature already for whatever reason, it definitely has it now! It would follow us wherever we go. We have to kill it!”

“Hacking at its legs isn’t doing anything!” they heard faintly from behind the monster, as Cullen sprinted out from the path of its arms, trying to swat him away like an annoying fly. Grace slung a fireball at where its head should have been, a grim look of determination settling on her face as it let out a howl.

“Delrin, I’m going to need a springboard,” she said, running past him a short distance, turning quickly.

“What?”

“Send me high!” she yelled again, pointing upwards with her staff. It seemed to get the meaning through, because he dropped to one knee, shield braced against his shoulder as Grace started sprinting, twin lines of flame guarding her sides as her foot hit the shield, and Barris pushed upwards with all of his might, sending her flying into the air, staff blade dragging a blazing, bloody trail up the length of the monster’s torso, a horrific shriek shaking the building as the behemoth started to fall, enough damage done to its core systems that it was flailing and dying.

As she flew slightly higher, she saw a shadow of a red Templar approaching Cullen’s unprotected back, ready to strike. The sickening crystal blade glittered as it rose, the sunlight glinting off of the deadly edge.

“Cullen!”

He turned, looking up at her in confusion, face twisting into horror as the blade swung downwards, slicing through the air.

One fade step was all it took, darting through the air to stop in front of him, the sword slicing through leather, metal, and skin across her body, leaving a trail of fire and pain in its wake. Her mouth opened to scream, but all her voice could manage was a pained grunt as the blade finally fell from the shadow’s hands, Barris’ own blade emerging from its chest. She hit the ground with a dull thud, head bouncing off of the scattered stones, vision spinning and clouding over.

“Grace!” Barris shouted, beating down the oncoming red Templars, Cullen backing up to her other side as she slowly flipped onto her back, consciousness swirling quickly out of her grasp.

She tried to speak, lips forming the word, nothing but voiceless air escaping them.

“What?” Cullen shouted over the din of battle. Grace tried again, taking a struggling breath.

“ _Down_ ,” she croaked throwing the strongest barrier over them she could. Both men looked back at her like she was insane, both of their eyes widening in worry and horror as Grace gathered the last of her strength, a little nexus of pain, fury, and sheer will spinning at her breast, before it blasted outwards in a bright, white hot sheet of flame. They shut their eyes against the brightness, falling flat on the ground as the shockwave hit them, the panicked screams of the red Templars being wiped out in an instant ringing over the rushing wind as heat ate at the barriers, blistering hot despite the magic shield.

As quickly as it came, the heat and rushing stopped, the barrier flickering out. Cullen was the first to raise his head, brushing ash out of his hair. There was a groan behind him, and Barris sat up, nursing a bloody nose and surveying the effects of Grace’s last spell.

The landscape was devastated. Any green that had grown in the red lyrium coated courtyard was now ash and char, the lyrium itself burned away in the heat and intensity of the magic worked there. Where red Templars had once stood were now dark shadows against walls and pillars, and puddles of molten metal where armor and weapons had once been. Nothing could have survived. Especially not-

“Grace,” they both said in unison, turning to the woman who lay between them, unconscious, coughing and struggling to breathe, but as untouched by the fire as they were. Blood flowed freely from the wound that stretched across her chest. Cullen and Barris recoiled at the empty, dead feeling that should have been the bright, cheerful feeling of her magic that permeated the air around her.

Carefully, oh so carefully, Cullen lifted her head out of the ash, cradling it in his lap, reaching his hand out. Barris stared at it dumbly for a second, before nodding and digging into her potion satchel, pulling out a flask of green elfroot, which was rapidly poured down her throat. Her breathing eased slightly as the blood clotted, but she did not open her eyes. Another potion, this time lyrium, was shoved into Cullen’s hand.

“Why are you handing me this?” he asked angrily, shoving the vial back towards Barris, who uncorked it, shoving it back into Cullen’s hands.

“It’s for her! Trust me!”

The blue liquid slid into her mouth as Barris tipped the vial gently, stroking her throat so she swallowed, a small flicker of mana returning to her body. Immediately, her wound started glowing with a saturated green, flesh slowly and roughly melding together until the glimmer of mana died out, the bleeding starting anew, but less intensely. Barris shuffled closer to her head, gently brushing some of the hair from her face and out of her mouth, tracing her tattoo with his thumb.

“You stupid, stupid self sacrificing woman,” he whispered, “saving everyone you can at every cost to yourself.” Cullen thought he heard a slight sob in Barris’ voice.

“We need to get her back to Skyhold, as quickly as possible,” Cullen said, taking a shaky breath. “She needs to see a healer.”

Barris stared at Grace for a moment, before swallowing and nodding. “You take her. I’ll catch up with her horse.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re the better rider, Cullen. I’ll just slow you down,” Barris said, gently moving her legs so Cullen could pick her up with ease.

“You don’t even know where we are, Delrin!” Cullen sighed. “I barely do.”

“I’ll find my way back.”

“Delrin-“

“Don’t argue, just run,” Barris snapped, helping Cullen stand, gripping his arm. “If you wait, she’ll die, and where would that leave us?”

They glared tensely at each other, before Cullen turned, carrying her towards the verdant tree line that had escaped the blast.

“Cullen!”

He stopped and turned, cradling Grace a little closer as her head lolled senselessly. Barris was standing there with his lyrium supplies held out towards them.

“What are those for?”

“For her. If you keep dosing her, her body might heal itself,” Barris explained, walking over and tucking the pack in Grace’s lap. “She’s as talented a healer as she is a Hunter. Her body should know what to do.”

“And you?” Cullen asked, brow furrowing in concern. “It took us five days to get here, it may take you longer to get back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

By this point they’d made it back to the horses, and Cullen passed Grace to Barris so he could mount the Light Torn Steed, which seemed to be the fastest. He looked at the man carefully, as Barris looked at Grace with a tenderness and possessiveness that stirred something deep within him.

“You love her.”

Barris winced, and carefully passed Grace back to Cullen, looking up with a sad expression that carried oceans of meaning. “It’s more complicated than that. Maybe I’ll tell you about it when I make it back to Skyhold.”

Cullen frowned, shifting the unconscious mage into a more comfortable position, whipping the gold chain off of his neck.

“Delrin… so you can find your way home.”

Catching the phylactery, Barris pressed it over his heart. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry. Now go.”


	8. The Color Of The Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (These will be in chronological order, versus the day specific order they appeared on Tumblr as)

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to exist.

Grace was dying.

She knew she was dying.

Whispers filtered through her mind as she grappled with consciousness.

_Save them. Save them Grace._

“Marc…” she tried to say, her voice not cooperating as her chest burned, the sticky warmth of blood running over her skin and down her sides. She could taste metal in her mouth, like the buzzing, zingy taste of lyrium, but stronger.

She was dying.

“What?” Cullen yelled over the din of battle, looking down at her. Red Templars pressed in from all sides, surrounding them. She could save them. She had to save them.

_Save them._

“ _Down,_ ” she rasped, pulling all of her energy into herself. The world greyed as she felt barriers snap around Barris, Cullen, and lastly herself, the latter just flimsy enough that if she did survive, she wouldn’t be incinerated alongside the red lyrium monsters.

_If_ she survived.

She shut her eyes, and let go, the blast rocking her to her very core before she slid into solid blackness.

 

* * *

She felt the rushing past her ears before she heard it, the dull roar that crept into every fiber of her being as she fell down, down, down into nothingness, stopping abruptly. Her eyes blinked open, a faint red glow permeating everything in her field of vision as they adjusted to the light. Something rough and warm pulled at her wrists harshly; pinching and straining as slowly the numbness that ran through her limbs began to recede. Her chest burned as she took a deep breath, her throat raw and ragged.

“ _Oh good, Little Mage. You’ve seen fit to join us_.”

That voice. Grace knew that voice. It was the voice that had haunted her nightmares for longer than she cared to admit, always at the back of her imagination. She lifted her head, peering into the darkness in front of her, struggling to speak.

“Demon.” Her voice was pained, raspy, and broken. The effort almost sent her careening back into the darkness as she tasted blood in her mouth.

“ _Very good. Now let’s see if you remember this,_ ” the disembodied voice sneered.

Grace started to pull on the bindings that held her tight against the hard object behind her, struggling as they pulled tighter, threatening to wrench her arms from their sockets, a pained shriek ripping from her bleeding throat.

“ _Tsk tsk… Such manners. Weren’t you raised better, Lady Trevelyan?_ ” The voice laughed, a figure stepping out of the shadows. She froze, heart thudding in her chest.

She recognized the too-early silvered hair, the cavalier smile that flashed at her, the grey eyes that twinkled.

“You. Are not. Marc,” she spat, screeching as the bindings pulled again, hauling her hard against the pillar. “You’re nothing but a spineless spirit who likes nothing more than to torture little girls!”

“ _What was done to you was done already, Little Mage,_ ” the demon in the form of her dead partner laughed, striding up to her. “ _You’re nothing but a murderer, trying to make herself feel better by siding with better murderers._ ” He grabbed her face roughly, twisting her head to the side and pressing his mouth against her ear, tracing it in an all-together too familiar gesture, whispering loudly in Marc’s voice. “Such a shame… you always were a pretty one Grace.”

“How dare you,” she spat back, kicking one of her legs out, touching nothing as the spirit reappeared on the other side of her, cackling.

“ _Now now, Little Mage. That’s no way for an attack dog to treat its masters._ ”

“How did you-“

“ _You’ve been asleep for a long time, Little Mage,_ ” the demon laughed, the chains easing. “ _Let me show you the world you abandoned._ ” With a snap of his fingers, she was released, falling off of the pillar with a weak thump. Grace rubbed her arms hard, turning to look at what she had been bound to, recoiling in horror as she looked into the dead eyes of the Inquisitor, encased in red lyrium.

“That’s…”

“ _The finest piece in our collection, I assure you, Little Mage,_ ” the demon laughed. “ _You haven’t seen our exhibit yet though. I’m sure you’ll find it most exciting. Now walk.”_

“I’d rather die,” Grace hissed, trying to conjure a fire ball in her hand. In an instant she felt herself airborne again, slamming into the wall, shards of red lyrium driving into her skin. She found herself crying out in pain, the crystals sticking into her body as she was pushed up the wall by her throat, choking and spluttering for breath, her legs kicking out in an effort to free herself.

“ _That can readily be arranged, my merry murderess. But not until after the Elder One sees just how much it takes to break you. We came so close the last time we played this little game. Let’s see how long it takes in person._ ”

 

The demon dragged her from the wall, sending her skidding across the floor, the broken lyrium shards grinding into her body as she crashed through a double doorway, tumbling out onto a balcony. Eyes streaming with tears as she pushed off the ground, she looked out over the broken landscape as the sun rose, witnessing the color of the new dawn: a harsh sickly green, scattering its light through clusters of red lyrium that spread over the earth like a fungus.

 

“Welcome to the new world, Lady Hunter Grace Anne Fortunata Serena Trevelyan, daughter of the late Bann Trevelyan, Sanctioned Murderer of Children, and Templar Whore,” Marc’s voice echoed over the ledge. She spun, feeling cold hands at her throat. “It is time to face your deepest _Fears_.”

 

Blood splashed over her as a red Templar drove its blade through the Demon Marc’s body, shoving them both roughly over the edge of the abyss into another blank nothingness.


	9. With My Hands

She lay terribly still.

That was all Cullen could think about, how Grace, who was constantly moving, so painfully accurate to her name, so full of life, could be so horrifically still. It took them four days of hard riding to get back to Skyhold, even with the Light Torn Steed laid out at a full gallop, and not once did she move. Not once did she shift, or speak, or even moan.

Not once did she open her eyes.

Occasionally the scabbing wound would flicker green, as her exhausted mana stores slowly returned and then were promptly drained by her body’s innate desire to heal and survive.

She looked dead. She felt dead. Only the fluttering of her heartbeat as it struggled to keep going, and the occasional flicker of magic stemming from her wound gave any indication of life.

So he pressed on, until finally he clattered up the ramp to Skyhold, the narrow switchback that rose steadily upwards echoing with the frantic pounding of hooves, heralding his return. A triumphant cry echoed over the battlements, but quickly died as they saw the lone horse, and heard the rapid clatter of hooves on stone. The gates creaked open, and they rode through them, skidding to a stop in the courtyard.

“Cullen! Cullen, what happened?” Cassandra’s imperious voice came filtering over the crowd that surrounded him. “Where’s Ser Barris and the- oh sweet Maker.”

“Where’s Solas? She needs a healer immediately!” Cullen yelled back, looking around for someone to slide Grace to so he could dismount. Cassandra ran up, carefully picking Grace up from his lap and carrying her with ease.

“Solas and the Inquisitor have gone to Crestwood, on urgent business apparently but what-“

“Then we need to get her to the healers. Now.”

They both sprinted towards the tiny infirmary next to the Herald’s Rest, Cullen practically breaking down the door. Cassandra carefully set Grace down on the nearest open bed, stripping the blood-stiffened coat and armor from her body quickly and efficiently.

“How long ago did this happen?” she asked quietly, looking at the large rope-y half healed wound that now crossed Grace’s chest from shoulder to waist. The sight was sobering –Grace’s own healing had only closed the deepest and vital parts of her body. The rest was scab and slow healing scar tissue, still bleeding from the constant bouncing motion of the ride.

“Four days.”

“Maker.”

One of the mages came over, looking over the wound with studious, worried eyes, before attempting to pour his magic into it. There was a flash, and he pulled away, as if burned by something.

“I don’t know how she’s doing it, but your mage friend isn’t allowing me to heal her,” he said, looking at Cullen with a worried glance.

“She’s unconscious,” Cullen argued, “how can she not allow it?”

“I don’t know Ser. But we will try what we can,” the mage said, before rushing over towards one of the chantry sisters, who nodded, rushing into the back room and emerging a moment later with bandages, a kettle of boiling water, multiple healing draughts and what looked disturbingly like a surgeons kit.

“What are you going to-“

“You’ll have to leave, Commander,” the mage said, ferrying them towards the door. “You don’t want to be here if she regains consciousness during this.”

Cullen stopped, glaring. “I’m not leaving.”

“Cullen I think you should come with me,” Cassandra said, pulling halfheartedly on his arm.

“I-“

“Cullen, come on. We need a report of what happened,” Cassandra insisted, pulling again, leading him away and out of the door. As she shut the door behind them, the last image he saw was the bright flush of crimson as the healers opened the wound to clean it properly.

She lay terribly still.

 

The mage who had tried to heal Grace first, entered the tavern hours later, looking for him. Cassandra had pulled him into the Herald’s Rest, demanding answers, sitting across from him soberly as he relayed the events at the shrine. Taking the satchel of tools, she agreed to take them to Dagna, leaving him to his thoughts.

“Commander?”

He looked up, bleary eyed at the mage, exhausted from the ride, and lack of sleep. “Yes?”

“Your friend, the Hunter? There’s nothing more we can do, Ser.”

Icy fear gripped Cullen’s hear as he looked up, more alert. “Is she-“

“No. She’s alive. But she hasn’t woken, or moved. There is little more to do than let her body do what it has been doing, now that the wound has been cleaned properly,” the mage said, bowing his head. “Would you like to see her? We had her moved to her quarters. We thought it would be more private there, so she can recover in peace.”

“Yes, thank you,” Cullen muttered, standing quickly and walking calmly up the stairs towards his office, and hers, just beyond.

The door opened quietly to the vigil like scene before him. A cot had been placed next to the fire, which she was now laying upon, torso heavily bandaged, pale skin glowing in the orange light. The blood had been washed from her face, her hair carefully braided back and brushed out, a small butterfly bandage placed over a cut he had missed on her temple. She didn’t move when he sat on the floor next to her, still unconscious, and breathing easily. The slow, subtle hum of lyrium in her system told him that they had dosed her again, the faint green glow hardly visible in the stronger fire light, hidden under the bandages.

Someone had carried her belongings up the stairs, the torn and gouged metal of her breastplate bright and shiny against the matte black surface, the silver sword of mercy scarred and broken in two, still covered in dried blood. It made his stomach turn, the sound of the shearing metal still ringing in his ears as his mind replayed the instant before she fell to the ground.

Her worried shout, the sight of a blade, a blue flash, bracing himself for the impact and then… he had felt nothing. Just watched in horror as she took the blow that had been meant for him like it was her duty to protect him. Like she was expendable. She hadn’t screamed, or shied away from it. Just let out a small shocked ‘oh’ as the blade ripped through her too thin armor.

“Thank you,” he said out loud, startling himself. He probably sounded like a madman, talking to a woman who was as still as a corpse and gave no indication of hearing him, but then, no one was around to hear him, and she had offered not two weeks prior that she would listen whenever he needed. He needed it now. Taking a deep breath, he started again.

“Thank you. You probably don’t hear that often, do you? You don’t hear the thanks, the relief from those people you save. None of you did. That’s probably why Hunters are so secretive, isn’t it? For your own protection, to keep people who shout traitor at bay,” he murmured, absently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Her skin was overly warm, as though she was possessed by a fever. “Templars aren’t told about you until after they take their vows you know. Even then, we may never meet one of your sisters unless there’s a problem. We’re told you show no regard for your brothers, that your devotion is only to your Handler and the Maker. And yet... you saved my life, without regard to your own.”

“You risked everything, guiding your men here, without thought of your own wellbeing. You could have run at any moment and left them, but you didn’t. You stayed loyal because it was the right thing to do, not because it benefited you,” he continued. “That’s a trait I’ve admired in Templars when I was a child, their fierce loyalty to protecting people, because it was the right thing. I was thirteen when I was accepted for training –quite a lot older than you were I’m sure. But, I wanted to serve, and I did. I did everything I thought was right, and Kinloch still fell. They called me ‘lucky’. I wasn’t lucky. I was…changed. You don’t witness the horrors conjured by demons and not come out a different person. You know, I met the Hero of Ferelden when I was in there, and I called her a bitch, to her face? I-“ he hesitated, sighing heavily “-she didn’t deserve that, Maker preserve her. Her companion, Alistair was with her when they found me. Supposedly, that’s where the Inquisitor has gone, to fetch him. I can’t imagine what seeing him will feel like after all these years. To be honest, he probably doesn’t remember me, the lone, traumatized Templar at the top of the tower… he probably doesn’t want to remember, like I try not to.”

“They sent me to Kirkwall. You probably remember Kirkwall. I’m sure you were there at one point, with Ser Garren. I’m sure I would remember it more clearly, if I hadn’t been so damn busy at the time. You helped rescue some children, trapped in a part of the Gallows we couldn’t clear properly. I remember, you brought every single one back unharmed, but you yourself were covered in blood. Once again, acting without regard to your own safety. Maker, what was your name then…” He trailed off lost in thought.

“It’s Andraste,” Barris’ exhausted voice said behind him. Cullen jumped. “Her codename within the Hunters is Hunter Andraste.”

The two men stared at each other, taking in the effects of the hard ride on each other.

“You look like you’ve seen the Void, Delrin,” Cullen said, patting the floor next to him. Barris shrugged and dropped the packs that had been on the horses next to the desk, shutting the door quietly. He slumped down next to Cullen, holding his head.

“Is she alright?” he asked, voice muffled by his hands.

“I don’t know. The healers have done all they can, but something isn’t allowing them to use magic on her,” Cullen responded, placing a steadying hand on Barris’ shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Barris opened his mouth as if to respond and then snapped it shut, shaking his head. “Are you?” he asked quietly, placing his hand over Cullen’s. “I don’t blame you for what happened to her, Cullen. She’s…”

“She’s a protector,” Cullen finished for him, nodding his head. “I’m a little woozy after the red lyrium exposure, and the lack of sleep, but I think I’ll recover. If she does, at least.”

“She’ll pull through,” Barris sighed, standing slowly and walking over to a cabinet. “She always does.” He opened it, pulling out two mugs, and a large stoppered bottle. “We may as well pass the time,” he chuckled dryly, placing the mugs on the table and pouring a generous helping of the liquid into each. Cullen accepted the mug with a simple nod, raising it in a toast.

“To our Lady.”


	10. Now Lay Me Down To Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Grace's fever dreams...

_Thank you…_

Her eyes snapped open once again, figures flitting at the edge of her vision. She was kneeling in front of a large stone altar, her hands bound roughly behind her back. 

“ _You can’t die now, Little Mage,_ ” the demon laughed, the voice echoing around the chamber. “ _Think of the fun we’re going to have._ ” She felt a hand trail up her back, languid and smooth, touching bare skin the whole way. Shivering, she twitched away with a shocked gasp. “ _Oh, uncomfortable?_ ” the demon sneered. “ _You’d think you’d appreciate your dead lover’s touch one last time_." 

Grace tried to pull away as the blood covered false Marc grabbed her roughly, hands groping her naked body in the constant humming glow of the red lyrium.

“Oh… Oh Maker, hear my cry,” Grace choked through her disgust. “Guide me through the blackest ni-AHHHHHH!” Stinging pain flashed through her mind, leaving behind a warm, aching feeling as the sound of the object slamming against her skin. “Steel- steel my heart against the temptations of the wiCKED!” She was struck again, the lash painful enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“You always were such a devout little whore, Grace,” the demon said in Marc’s voice. “ _He believed that you know. You would have thrown yourself at anyone they gave you to. He was just lucky it was him._ ”

She noticed that there was not another lash. Lifting her head, she stared the demon in the eye. “Make me to rest in the warmest pla-“

It’s hand slammed into her face, knocking her to the floor, as the demon howled with laughter. “ _You think you’re clever don’t you? You think that all of that Maker-nonsense they pumped your head full of will save you now? There is no Maker, Little Mage. The Elder One is your god now._ ”

“You’re full of shit.” 

“ _And you still believe in a work of fiction transcribed from the words of a burned madwoman,_ ” the demon chuckled. “ _Everyone has their faults, Little Mage…especially our friends here. Why don’t you come see them?_ ”

He grabbed her hair, dragging her past the altar, and hauling her to her feet, ignoring her screams of protest as she was shoved forward toward two pillars of red lyrium. With a snap of his fingers, the pillars turned, scraping along the floor.

If Grace hadn’t been screaming before, she was now, backing away from them as two pairs of red eyes sought hers, two chests still heaved with the effort of breathing as the sickening red crystals grew out of their skin.

“Delrin… Cullen, no.”

“ _Delrin and Cullen, yes, Little Mage. You should have seen your precious Templars fight for you, until they were overwhelmed. You did nothing for them but doom them to a life of torture and misery, and finally serving their new god._ ”

She continued to back away until she hit the stone altar, her hands sending something skittering. Jerking away, she turned to look at what she had touched. Laying on the altar was a short obsidian knife, the edges traced in red lyrium runes.

“ _Now you’re catching on to the game, Little Mage,_ ” the demon laughed, pulling her roughly to the center of the room once again. Her legs were locked into tight fitting shackles that kept her from moving, her hands unbound, and the knife pushed into her hands. “I can save them both you know. All I require from you is a deal.”

“Not interested,” Grace spat, clenching the knife in her fist.

“ _Your choice._ ”

The red lyrium seemed to grow faster, quickly consuming both men as their screams of pain echoed through the chamber. 

“WAIT.”

The demon smiled, lowering his hand. Grace was looking up through red rimmed eyes, the knife held fast in her hand.

“Wait… What kind of deal?” she asked nervously.

“ _I thought you’d never ask._ ”


	11. The Penitent Man

Cullen awoke to gentle snoring in his ear, and sunlight streaming through the windows. His head ached, but for once, it was with the deadened effects of a hangover, and not the ever-present craving for lyrium. The empty decanter a short ways away on the floor explained that mystery. Glancing to his side he saw Delrin still fast asleep, face blank with slumber, head resting almost possessively on Cullen’s arm. He struggled to remember how they ended up in this position, the events blurry with alcohol and misery. He also realized that it was the first night he had slept through the night in a very long time.

Carefully, he sat up, shifting his arm out from underneath Barris, he checked on Grace, who was still in the position she had been placed in, eyes gently closed, lashes barely brushing the edge of her tattoo, which stood in stark contrast to her skin. Her breathing was easy, her skin still overly warm to the touch, but not flushed with sickness. She was still fighting, wherever she was in her mind. He looked up from her as a timid knock came at the door, which Cullen answered quickly, spying one of the Chantry sisters carrying an armload of fresh bandages.

“Would you like to leave for this, Commander?” the sister whispered, setting the bandages down next to the cot, carefully pulling the sheet Grace was covered with down off of her body, revealing how low the bandages dipped, folding it back over her hips.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse in the field, and our Lady hasn’t necessarily been a blushing maiden. I’ll stay,” Cullen said, glancing over at Barris, who was starting to stir. “It’s just one of the Sisters, Delrin. Will you be alright?”

“Ugh… I think so. Go ahead Sister.”

The sister nodded gently, pulling out a short knife and cutting the bandages down Grace’s side, slowly revealing the jagged remains of the sword wound. It was red and angry, eerie veins of irritation spreading out from it, following the veins in her skin.

“Is that-“ Barris started to ask, but Cullen shushed him, watching the progress with concern as the bandages moved past her breasts, showing the deeper wound near her stomach, stretching over to her waist. It was a smaller wound than he remembered, but there were also the silvery lines of places where her magic had already sealed over the skin, showing that the wound had in fact been larger.

“As you can see, Sers,” the sister said, pulling out an ointment that she smoothed over the broken skin, “we believe her wound was tainted with the red lyrium, but when we inspected it, we could find no trace. It would seem that whatever magic she used which put her into this comatose state, also saved her from that fate. We also believe this is what is preventing her from being healed by magic. Her body is rejecting all but her own with impunity.”

Barris hung his head, biting his lip. “Do we know how it will affect her?”

“It could be nothing,” the sister sighed, gently lifting Grace off of the cot so she could wind the new bandages around her torso, “it could be that she may find that there are side effects, either immediately or long into the future, or… and I am sorry to say this Ser, it is possible that she may never awake. Your friend may have gone to the hands of the Maker in all but body.”

Cullen felt his hand curl into a fist. “Never.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Barris asked, his voice almost pitifully broken.

“Pray for her,” the sister said simply, gathering her things, and pulling the sheet back over Grace. “Pray that she finds her way, wherever she is being led.” She left without another word, the door swinging shut with a quiet thump. A strained silence filled the room, both men looking silently over to Grace’s body, still slumbering obliviously onwards. Cullen sighed heavily, cradling his head in his hand. The constant hum of lyrium coming from the woman was starting to drive him mad, and from what he could tell, Barris wasn’t faring much better.

“I need air,” he finally said, turning on his heel and out the door, leaving the buzzing, thrumming feeling behind him. A follow up thump from the door told him that Barris had walked out behind him.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said quietly. “I don’t really feel like being alone right now.”

The two men walked to the garden, stopping in front of the small chapel, the doors open to let the air in. It was still early morning, and no one had ventured into the area yet, the pale glow of morning sun barely peaking over the rooftops.

“How long have you known her?” Cullen asked, sitting on one of the benches. “It’s obvious you two have more history than just the past three months or so.”

Barris sighed, sitting next to him. “I met her two years ago, when a group of blood mages enslaved a village south of Vigil’s Keep. It was… a mess. We had to call in Hunters from all over Thedas. Marc was still alive then. She was… infatuated with him, but then, all Hunters are like that with their Handlers. She saved my life, twice during that mission.” He shifted, leaning forward. “I understand you saw her in Kirkwall? Then you met her just after I did.”

“We had a lot of Hunters in Kirkwall, but I do seem to remember her saving a group of children. I was recruited to the Inquisition soon after, and left the Order behind. I never thought I’d encounter another Hunter in my life,” Cullen said simply.

“She is certainly not someone you can forget easily… and neither are you, Commander,” Barris said, looking intently at the ground.

“Is this something to do with that _it’s more complicated_ thing?” Cullen asked, cocking his head to one side. Barris let out a dry laugh.

“Just a little.”

“Tell me.”

Barris shook his head, smiling a little. “It’s… complicated. And I’m not sure I want to mess up whatever this is, if I tell you.”

“I think it’s fairly obviously you love her, Delrin,” Cullen chuckled, throwing one of his arms behind Barris’ shoulders. “What’s stopping you?”

“Maybe because it’s _not just her_ , Cullen.”

Cullen blinked, the words working their way into his brain.

“And it’s not just me,” Barris continued, standing up and walking towards the Chantry, “You’ve thrown us for a loop, Commander. We’ve been waiting to bring up the idea with you, but now that that might not happen…” Barris exhaled hard, shaking himself. “I thought you would want to know, but I also understand if that idea doesn’t appeal to you.”

“I’ve never- I mean I-“ Cullen stuttered, cheeks aflame.

“It’s alright. I understand completely. Maker watch over you, Cullen,” Barris whispered, walking into the Chantry. Cullen sat in shock for a moment, processing what had just happened.

Grace and Delrin. Both. The pair of them. All at once. Together. Of course it had crossed his wildest, most private dreams but never had he dared hope that it might become reality.

Oh Maker he had made a mess of this.

The quiet recitation of the ever-familiar Chant of Light started to echo out of the Chantry, as Barris took the chantry sister’s words to heart. Heart pounding, Cullen followed him into the chantry.

“In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains,” Barris prayed, kneeling in front of the statue. They hadn’t cleared the chapel out properly yet, mostly due to the Inquisitor’s lack of interest, but it was still cozy.

“Delrin?”

Barris stopped, shaking his head. “I told you it was fine, Cullen. No harm, no foul.” Pressing off of the ground, he stood, turning to face Cullen, who had walked up behind him.

“It’s not fine with me,” Cullen said adamantly.

“You said-“

“I said that I never have,” Cullen said, voice dipping lower, placing a hand on Barris’ shoulder. “I didn’t say no.”

Barris blinked in shock, his mouth opening in a small ‘o’ shape as he started to comprehend. Cullen took that opportunity to silence any more words, pulling him into a kiss.


	12. Candle

"What kind of deal?”

“ _I thought you’d never ask,_ ” the demon laughed, gesturing towards the space between the two men. “ _We’re going to play a game, to see how far your devout little mind will go before your sense of self preservation sets in. Your fear of dying, if you will. I imagine, this will also conjure up some very very unpleasant memories for you._ ”

A loud scraping noise followed by the smooth rolling of casters on the surface announced the machination’s arrival, pushed by two wizened slaves. It was very simple, merely a cart attached to a chain that was threaded between her legs to keep the cart on track. Standing in the cart however was what made Grace’s heart jump into her throat. It stood just shy of her full height, a long brass pole sticking out of it, tipped with a glowing hot Chantry Sun. 

“ _For every cut you make on your skin in my name, for every wound you create to defile yourself in a deal with a demon, the cart will move one crank closer to you, Little Mage. You will become that which you hunted, faced down with your own punishment. However, for every mark on you, the lyrium will start to leave your precious Templars,_ ” the demon explained, walking up behind her. “ _We go until you can no longer bring yourself to become malificarum, or until the brand presses itself into your pretty little forehead._ ” He gently, almost tenderly pressed cold lips to her temple, playing with her hair. “ _If you successfully become Tranquil, your friends will be freed from their red torment._ ”

“How- how do I-“

“ _All you have to do is mark yourself for me, Little Mage. I will accept that as confirmation of our deal,_ ” the demon snickered, grabbing her arms and lifting them in front of her, moving the hand with the knife towards her wrist. “ _The choice is yours. Lose yourself, or lose your friends._ ”

Grace hesitated, the razor sharp edge moments from touching her skin. “Will they be safe?” 

“ _You have my word, Little Mage. I will not harm a single hair on their heads._ ”

Swallowing, she closed her eyes and set the blade against her skin, drawing it slowly. It felt like nothing at first, just nothing, before it exploded into sharp stinging pain. Like any cut or wound, it faded quickly, blood starting to pool around its surface. In an instant, the red lyrium started to pull back from both men, their heaving chests evidence that they were still alive. The chain pulled, clicking once, moving the cart forward a few inches. Her stomach turned as she brought the knife up again, a short distance down from the first cut, hesitating again.

“ _Tick tock, Little Mage. Did I mention you have a time limit?_ ” the demon whispered in her ear as Cullen started to groan again, the patches where the lyrium had disappeared starting to split again as the crystals started to grow. “ _There’s no hesitation now, maleficar_.”

“O-oh Maker, hear my cry,” Grace whispered, eyes burning as she brought the knife biting into her skin once again. “Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.” Another cut, two more clanks as the cart moved forward, the brand swaying back and forth hypnotically. “Make me to rest in the warmest places.” Her arm ached dully, her blood starting to drip on the floor from the thin cuts as she continued, trying to lull herself into a rhythm with empty recitation.

She finished Transfigurations twelve by the end of her left arm, hands shaking from the pain, the cuts angry and weeping blood down her side as she moved to her left leg, trying to keep up with the growing lyrium, tears streaming down her face as the knife bit deeper.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant,” she started, drawing another line of pain through her leg. “Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion.”

“Grace don’t do this.”

She stopped, almost dropping the knife when Cullen spoke.

“I… I have to. If I don’t you’ll die.” 

“How can you protect us, when you couldn’t even protect your own Handler, Grace?” Barris asked her, his head turning, eyes still glowing red with lyrium. 

Her hands shook, falling to her knees under their questions, wincing at the hidden barbs in their words. “I have to do this,” she whispered over and over again, still hesitating, and only dragging the knife through her skin as their screams started to echo through the chamber again, the lyrium catching up with her.

“Don’t do this, Grace.” 

“These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, one life, one death,” she said louder, bringing the knife down her leg, blood making her skin slippery. She stood gingerly, her cut leg screaming at her as she moved to the other one, continuing loudly as she watched the cart trundle it’s way towards her. The lyrium was over half gone by now, the cart moving steadily onwards, the glowing sun now clearly evident. “There is but one god, and He is our Maker,” she continued, cutting deeper and longer, the world starting to spin slightly as she drowned out the impassioned cries of the men pleading with her not to continue with her prayers. Only a few more lines, a few deep cuts, and it would be over.

Every mage feared Tranquility. But her demon knew, he knew she feared losing her loved ones more than that. More cuts appeared over her leg, and her dominant arm as she swapped the blade in her hands, the drying blood creating a sticky texture that kept her from dropping it. 

A few more lines. A few more cuts, and then nothing. She wouldn’t feel this fear ever again. They would be safe. She could guarantee that. 

“They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones,” she whispered, watching the brand slide carefully towards her forehead. She shut her eyes, ignoring the yells of protest from Cullen and Barris as they watched the brand draw closer and closer. “They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.” 

There was a searing flash of heat, and then she was consumed by darkness, falling down, ever steadily downwards. They were safe. She had saved them.

* * *

 

“You give yourself too freely, my Hunter,” a woman’s voice whispered in her ear. She came back to herself softly, blinking her eyes open into darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Easy, my child. You are safe,” the woman whispered again, the world shrinking inwards until there was only a room, with a candle in the center. “You have passed through the fire, your faith sustaining you.”

“Who are you?” Grace asked, more specifically. Warm hands covered her ears, though the voice still echoed through her mind. 

“Do not be afraid Grace Trevelyan. All is well. That is all you need to know.”

“Then all of that-“

“A dream. Your friends miss you dearly,” the woman said, guiding Grace by the hand towards the center of the room.

“Where-“

“Between,” the woman answered, before Grace had asked the question. “Your battle with the red lyrium is won. Now you must go back to your own mind, and your own body.”

Grace looked at the candle, passing her hand over it. It lit gently, the flame flickering underneath her fingers. It lit the small room in it’s entirety. She turned towards the woman, who was smiling gently at her, almost too bright to look at directly.

“How do I go back?” Grace asked, shielding her eyes from the harsh glow.

“Feel. Breathe. Remember what being you feels like,” the woman whispered, tucking some of Grace’s hair behind her ear. “Remember the fire and the warmth you hold inside you, the touch of magic at your fingertips. They will be like this candle, a guiding light back to you, and your friends.”

The candle was pressed into her hand, the brightness receding with the woman’s last words. A long, dark hallway extended in front of her. Faced with no other option, Grace started to walk.


	13. Embers

Grace was still lying on the cot, as still as death when they made it back to the room. The fire that had been burning through the night had gone cold, the embers no longer glowing. The room had cooled down significantly in the autumn breezes that whistled over Skyhold’s walkways.

She was glowing again, the green peeping out through cracks in the bandages as her magic worked away at the wound. It seemed stronger, more robust, the smell of peppermint starting to fill the air. Barris settled down in a chair next to her, flipping through some of the documents on her desk that hadn’t been looked at. A few were requisition forms, requiring a signature, which he provided. A larger file sat underneath them, sealed and marked ‘Urgent’.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked Cullen, who sat across from him, looking at his own paperwork.

“It’s the report on the Inquisition’s lyrium supplies. Apparently some trouble out near one of the lyrium mines has caused a minor disruption in the supply line, but we should be fine, so long as nothing catastrophic happens,” Cullen said, squinting at the fine, minuscule print of Fenara Lavellan. “By the void does she have to write so small? Hand me a match, I need to light-“

The candlestick he had moved towards him lit at his request. They both stared at it in shock, turning towards Grace, who had not moved a muscle.

“Is she-“

Barris passed a hand over her cheek, frowning. “She’s still out cold.”

“It may have been Cole. He does odd things like that,” Cullen said, brow furrowing. Barris nodded, moving back to the file and popping the seal open, removing the contents.

The first list was very detailed, a complete break down of every vial of lyrium in Skyhold and where they were contained. The second list proved to be more interesting: a breakdown of every ration given to every Templar for the next six weeks. He scanned the list of names, seeing his own, and under his, Grace, who did not receive a daily dose of lyrium, but was slated for a restock every three weeks. He paused at the end of the list, searching it again.

“Cullen, your name isn’t on here.”

Cullen stopped looking over the report. “That’s correct.”

“You were a Templar, Cullen,” Barris said, his voice becoming slightly more panicked.

“Also correct.”

“Why are you not on the list? Why aren’t you taking it?”

There was a calculated pause. “I stopped taking it,” Cullen said finally, looking back to his report.

“Maker, Cullen that could kill you! How long have you been-“

“Since I left Kirkwall,” Cullen said harshly. “You know what the Order did there. You know the crimes committed, the atrocities that were left to fester. The things I did…I won’t be tied to that life anymore, Delrin. Not now, not ever again.”

Barris nodded dully. “Does Grace know?”

“No.”

“Does the Inquisitor?”

“Yes… And she supports my decision, surprisingly. I can’t say it’s enjoyable though. The withdrawal is…”

“Horrific,” Barris finished. “I got a taste of it when we were traveling here… the nightmares…” He shivered despite the growing warmth in the room.

“I can’t say if it’s worth it yet or not,” Cullen continued. “But at least I’ll have retained some of myself in the end.”

Barris slipped the file back into place, dropping a hand to place over Grace’s. “I wonder how she’d feel if-“ He stopped, mouth dropping open as her fingers twitched, weakly gripping his hand. He twisted quickly, searching her face as Cullen sprang up, sending papers flying as he rushed to her side, his hand covering Barris’.

“Grace?” Barris asked, sinking out of the chair. He felt his chest tighten with emotion.

Her face twitched, eyes starting to blink open. She took a deep breath, groaning as feeling started to register, the itching searing pain that ran across her chest coming back in a throb, and then full blown agony. Their faces swam into her field of view, lit up by green as she funneled her magic into the wound, sealing it properly, the pain lessening.

“Delrin… Cullen,” she muttered with a smile, her throat raspy from thirst. “Are you alright?” She turned her head slightly, groaning again as her muscles complained. “Why are you two crying?”

Both men were indeed crying quiet, happy tears, which she struggled to lift her hand to brush away from their cheeks.

“You nearly died,” Barris sniffed, brushing her hair out of her face as she looked back and forth. “Maker, Grace. We thought we lost you.”

“We?”

Cullen laughed, brushing his hand across his face. “There’s a lot to explain. How are you feeling?”

“Woozy. Exhausted. My head feels like someone tried to smash it in with a rock,” she rasped, her hand seeking purchase on something. Both men wrapped their hands around hers, grateful smiles unending on their faces. She opened her eyes properly as they adjusted to the relative brightness. “But most of all, thankful that I’m alive.”

“So are we,” Cullen said, bending down and kissing her forehead. “So are we.”

Barris handed her a small glass of water, which she sipped at gently, wetting her mouth. “I thought I was doomed,” she finally said sitting up slightly. The bandages slumped, showing off the ropey silver and red scar that now stretched across her upper body. “How long have I been out?”

“Five days,” Barris answered, smoothing her hair out of her face as she collapsed against him, her head spinning.

“Five days…” Grace repeated sleepily. "Would you be mad at me if I slept a little more?"

"Never," Cullen laughed. "We're just glad you're back."


End file.
